Learning Experience
by MusicalLuna1
Summary: Eliot is injured during a job and the team gets an unsettling look at one of his retreats.


A chill wriggles through Hardison's gut and squirms up through the ridges of his spine, prickling the hairs along the back of his neck when he sees the bathroom in Eliot's safehouse.

The bathroom itself is nothing out of the ordinary. Plain white and gray tiles, plain white cabinets, an ordinary fiberglass tub and toilet, silver towel racks, a large mirror.

No, what really gives Hardison the creepy-crawlies is the dark reddish-brown stains in the grout between the tiles. Some of it is in tiny specks, other areas are completely covered over. The tiles between are pristine and glossy. In the tub and in the sink, faint brownish rings circle the drains.

Worst of all are the extremely faded remnants of what looks like a smeared, bloody hand print on the wall just inside the door.

"What the hell's the hold up?" Eliot growls breathlessly in his ear and Hardison snaps out of his thoughts, swallowing hard. They're stalled in the doorway, Eliot waiting on him to move inside because his right ankle refuses to take even the slightest amount of weight.

"Sorry—sorry, I just—you bleed a lot in here, man, don't you?"

Eliot glowers up at him through the long, loose strands of his hair and Hardison pulls his mouth closed, taking Eliot's weight on his shoulder again.

The two of them gimp awkwardly into the bathroom and Eliot jerks his head at the toilet. "There."

Hardison hunches down to ease Eliot onto the toilet lid and averts his eyes to the ceiling in an effort not to think about the dark stain crusted in the corner between the counter and the wall. Looking up isn't his best idea though because there's a spray of dark brown that arcs directly overhead. He shudders and pulls his eyes back down, Eliot hissing as their uncoordinated movements jar a myriad of injuries.

"Sorry," Hardison repeats, his stomach rolling at the thought that he's causing Eliot any more unnecessary pain. "I told you I wasn't good at this."

"Shut up," Eliot says and his eyebrows are furrowed in toward the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, lines of pain etched beneath them and around his mouth, which he has pinched shut. Hardison knows immediately that he'd rather see Eliot's eyebrows dipped low in anger rather than in pain like they are now. Especially knowing that if he had followed Nate's orders, done what he'd been told, Eliot probably wouldn't even be like this.

He turns when Nate speaks up from the doorway. "All right, we're here, Eliot. What now?"

"You give me a second to catch my damn breath, that's what." He flicks his hair back and Hardison winces because his teeth clench a second later, his entire body going rigid as that small, reflexive motion sends pain out to every last scrape and bruise on his body. A few drops of bright, fresh red blood hit the gleaming white tiles beneath him and Hardison feels a little ill.

"What's going on?" Parker asks from behind Nate and Sophie chimes in right after her: "Yeah, what's going on? Eliot?"

They're both trying to peek over Nate's shoulders, but Parker is the most insistent and has her head poked out around Nate's left, craning to get a better look.

"I'm fine," Eliot grits. The creases in his forehead are from somewhere between annoyance and pain now.

Hardison's eyebrows rise in disbelief. "Dude. You are _not_ fine. The _last_ thing I'd say you are is 'fine'."

Eliot's eyes crack open to glare at him, blue gaze hitting him like a strike of lightning and Hardison tries not to wet himself in fear.

"I'm just sayin'," he says, raising his hands defensively.

"Eliot," Nate cuts in, still standing in the doorway, "I'd rather not stand here and wait as you bleed slowly to death. What needs to happen now?"

"Don't bleed to death," Parker adds, watching him with single-minded intensity. "Then who would make me breakfast?"

Eliot rolls his eyes and then pushes himself upright, grimacing. "Need to assess the damage," he grunts.

"Okay," Nate says patiently, "And how do we do that?"

Eliot's gaze cuts over to their fearless leader. "W_e_ do not do that. _I_ do that."

"And how exactly are you plannin' on doing it?" Hardison demands without thinking. "You can't even stand up on your own, man. And all that blood's got to be coming from somewhere. You're gonna be lucky if you don't fall offa that toilet."

It takes a lot of effort not to flinch when Eliot's eyes snap back over to him. Damn, but that brother's _intense_.

"I can handle myself just fine," Eliot grits. "I've done this before."

"We can _see_ that," Hardison says and jabs a finger at the bloodstained grouting, then at the spatter on the ceiling. Finally he crosses his arms and gives Eliot a pointed look, eyebrows raised.

"Oh my god," Sophie murmurs, and a flash of guilt washes through Hardison; she hadn't noticed. This earns him another glare from Eliot.

"Good going, idiot," he mutters.

"Okay, all right, enough!" Nate says, raising his voice. "Eliot, you're going to need some help whether you like it or not. Pick someone and tell us what you need, or we'll just try to figure it out on our own, the hard way."

"Fine, god! I don't see what the big deal is," he says, shoving his hair back out of his face, and then sucking back a sharp noise of pain through his teeth. "I've done this a thousand times before."

"Oh, Eliot," Sophie murmurs. Hardison feels like he's hearing her heart break.

"Can I watch?" Parker asks.

"You've been through this before," Nate says and Hardison feels like he's trying very hard to come across cool and aloof, understanding, but his eyes keep darting down to where Eliot has a bloodied hand pressed to his side. He's worried, or at least a little nervous. It makes Hardison feel better about how freaked out _he_ feels. Nate continues, "You're good at what you do, you can handle it. That's fine. But you're part of a team now, Eliot. And _this_," he waves a hand at the whole bathroom, "This is new to us."

"It's not that new," Parker says quietly. "But I still don't like it."

"Me either," Hardison puts in, and he tries to look disapprovingly down at Eliot. It doesn't quite work since his eyes seem to be magnetically attracted to the blood coating the side of Eliot's face and matted into his hair.

"We just want to help," Sophie adds.

Eliot's shoulders have hunched, his eyes stubbornly fixed on the grout at his feet. "I know that," he growls.

"Then let us help,please," Sophie pleads.

"I don't...I don't know what I need," Eliot admits after a moment.

"Well," Nate says, giving a little half-shrug. "Then do what you always do."

"Yeah, I want to see what you do to make _that_ happen," Parker says, and points at the ceiling.

Hardison resists the urge to put his head in his hand and gives Parker a _look_, sitting down on the edge of the bathtub. Turning to Eliot, he says, "You just do what you gotta do. If you need us, well, here we are, brother."


End file.
